


tell the ones that need to know

by insunshine



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Boston Bruins, Carolina Hurricanes, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-31
Updated: 2013-01-31
Packaged: 2017-11-27 17:24:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,304
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/664536
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/insunshine/pseuds/insunshine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tyler gets a lot of questions about why his boyfriend practically attacked Bergie on the ice.</p>
            </blockquote>





	tell the ones that need to know

**Author's Note:**

  * For [gigantic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/gigantic/gifts).



> Quick hits: 
> 
> 1\. The beginning of this story refers to the hit Jeff Skinner tried to lay out on Patrice Bergeron during the Brus/Carolina game on Monday. It was brutal. Jeff Skinner is a MONSTER on the ice. If I've said it once, I've said it a thousand times; his face is totally incongruous with his viciousness.
> 
> 2\. When your best friend is feeling like shit, and they haven't created replicators and/or transport beams, the next best thing you can do is write her stories about assholes realizing they're in love on the internet. Dear best friend, I love you! Feel better soon.
> 
> 3\. Enormous thanks also go out to Julie for the look-over. Without her, I would have lost my mind sometime last week and it would definitely not exist.
> 
> 4\. As of my writing this, the Hawks had not, in fact, lost last night, so the fact that they lost after I wrote it gives me serious fears about my own prescience. I can only hope that the Brus ignore the call and slaughter the Sabres tonight. (With respect to all Sabres fans, of course.)
> 
> 5\. I have no idea why Jesse Blacker is living with Segs at the moment (but I do know why Dougie Hamilton is living with Adam McQauid, and it's because he's been placed in semi-permanent rotation for the rest of the season. Yay, talented rookies! Yay.)
> 
> 6\. And finally, I don't know for sure Shawn Thornton actually walks around the Brus locker room without his underwear on, but I imagine that he does, because he's that kind of jerk.

Bergie actually pulls him over at the airport. 

Segs is kind of waiting for it, but that doesn’t make it any less shitty when Bergie says, “Fucking, like. Corral your guy, Segs. That was a low-blow.”

He sounds huffy, but Segs totally gets it. He wasn’t close enough to see the details, but everybody watched the replay about about a hundred times on the bus to the airport, and now, standing around waiting to board, Segs can feel a bunch of different people looking at him, and looking at Bergie, and just fucking _knowing_ what they’re talking about.

He's always liked being the center of attention, but maybe not this much. Definitely not this much.

“At least we won the game, eh?” he tries, and Bergie rolls his eyes, but he lets it go, so that’s something.

They get the all-clear from Coach that they’ll be boarding in a minute, and Segs takes a second to text Jeff. 

_getting on plane. now would be a good time to say your sorry._

Jeff hasn’t texted back by the time Segs takes his seat, sandwiched between Thorty and Dougie, but his bag buzzes as he’s tucking it up in the overhead.

He doesn’t check it until they’re landing at the air force base, but Jeff’s just sent back: _Fuck off, jackass._

There’s no apology attached to it, but he’s pretty sure there’ll be one coming. Jeff’s pretty good at re-evaluating when he gets over himself.

Jesse’s waiting for them in the parking lot anyway, and Segs can see Marshall going nuts in the backseat of the car, so that’s pretty great. His roommate and his dog. Things can’t get any better.

\--

Jeff still hasn’t texted by Thursday, because he’s an asshole. It’s fine, though. It’s cool. They won against the Devils, even if it wasn’t in regulation. 

Segs wants to be the best. He wants to dominate the way he did over in Biel. It’s not happening, though, for whatever fucked up reason. It hasn't been great for the first few games, to be honest. And it’s freaky when even Thorty’s being nice to him. That’s not the kind of shit Segs needs in the room, especially from a dude that’s as big a douche as that guy. He’s getting better, though, finally. So there's that.

They’re getting changed to get on the ice that night when his phone buzzes, and Segs thinks: fuck, finally, here it is. He’s not even going to check that shit, they’re not really supposed to have their phones on in the locker room, but Jeff grovels real pretty, so—It’s not Jeff, though, it’s a text from fucking Kaner, of all people. 

_gd luck, loser_ , it says. _try not to catch up too mcuh._

The Hawks just lost their first one Wednesday night, though, so Tyler doesn’t even know what that guy is playing at.

He throws back a smiley, because Segs knows how to play modern warfare, alright? Kaner’s the best, they’re boys and everything, but for the rest of this shortened season anybody who’s doing better than the B’s is the enemy.

Segs mostly forgets about it. It’s time to get out on the ice and show everybody who’s fucking boss. No more penalty shots or empty-netters, this shit is for real.

\--

The game is a shit show. Maybe it’s not the worst birthday he’s ever had, but it’s up there. It _sucks_.

Segs is doing his best, but he doesn’t spend enough time on the ice and fucking—Tuukka’s a great fucking guy, a great guy and a great goaltender. Segs hasn’t ever seen anybody play like him in any league, let alone here at home, but.

His temper is out of control, especially when he lets one go. The closer the fucking Sabres get, the more he loses it.

They end it 3-2, in regulation. The first loss in reg always sucks, but what sucks even worse is that they’re at home. These are their fans, in their building, and to lose to a team like the fucking Sabres at home is a disgrace.

The fact that he hasn’t scored in reg is fucking with him too, but this is definitely worse. This isn’t a him problem, this is a _them_ problem, and Dougie catches his eye when they’re getting their shit together in the room, looking anxious.

He’s a pretty composed kid, and Segs likes him a lot, but he likes him even more when he says, “I really wish we could have ice cream right now. Quaider’s still with his family up in PEI. You want to drop by the house for some, uh, Greek yogurt with fruit on the bottom? It’s not cake or anything, but at least it’s something, yeah?”

McQuaid’s place is on the opposite side of town from Segs’ own, but he follows Dougie home anyway, shooting a message to Jesse in the lobby that says: _hug my dog for me asshole. b home late._

 _get some, segsy!!!!_ Jesse texts back, and Segs laughs, but it’s not like—he’s not even thinking about hooking up. Dougie’s just a kid, casual road-roomie handies or no.

\--

They’re off the next day, which is great, because there’s laundry that needs to be done and boxes that still need to be unpacked. Also, because he’s fucking hungover as hell.

Shit, he doesn’t even really have a bed right now, just a frame and a mattress adjacent to it on the floor. He and Jesse keep talking about having someone come fix it up, because they’re both pretty shitty at directions, but they’ve been too busy.

Well, Segs has been too busy. Jesse says he’s busy, but all he’s got going on is being a house-husband, so fuck that noise forever.

He’s been sleeping on the couch in the den anyway, because fuck if he can remember where he left the Bed, Bath & Beyond bag with his new sheets in it and the sheets on his mattress still smell like Jeff.

He still hasn’t texted.

Segs is ready to send a cease-fire, because they haven’t gone this long without texting since Segs was getting used to the time difference in Switzerland.

 _u watch the game mon?_ he texts Brownie, because that dude is always the best at figuring shit like this out.

 _flyers weren’t playin_ , he texts back, but then: _you mean when your boyf tried to attack berg? yeah. I saw it. youtube = everything._

 _fuck off_ , Segs texts back, and waits for Brownie to say something smart about it.

When he hasn’t answered after twenty minutes, Segs texts again: _i didnt even do anything WRONG._

Brownie’s quicker this time: _u beat his team._

That’s true. Segs can’t even be too mad about it. They want to get the Cup again, and if it means beating the hell out of Carolina the next three times they play them, he’ll do it.

 _fuck Jeff_ , he texts.

It takes a few minutes, but Brownie texts back: _no thx._

\--

The thing is—the thing is, there’s no way you can be in a real relationship and on the road all the time. Even if you’re on the same team (which Segs hasn’t tried, Marchy doesn’t count), you might not be road roommates, and you’re definitely not gonna be unless you want the whole team and Coach C to know your business.

He and Jeff fuck different people all the time, but they’re usually pretty good at checking in with each other. Segs even has a chart and also, they’re definitely great at fucking _each other_. 

So, like. So what if Carolina lost the game? If the Brus had lost, Segs would’ve been pissed, but he wouldn’t have taken it out on Jeff, especially when it wasn’t just Jeff’s fault, and it definitely wasn’t Jeff’s fault that his goalie was better.

Or, whatever, the reverse of that. Ward was actually really sloppy, but it’s not like that was Jeff’s fault either.

That’s why this fucking sucks so bad. They’ve known each other since midget. Their parents are friends. Their siblings are friends. They’re supposed to be fucking friends first, no matter what fucking team they’re on.

Segs has never been the kind of guy to dwell. Sometimes shit just happens. Thorty always says you gotta shit or get off the pot. It’s weird advice coming from a guy with such a huge chip on his shoulder when it comes to, like, rivalries and stuff, but it’s not bad advice.

Jeff’s always been different, though. _They’ve_ always been different, and maybe he’s been a shitty boyfriend to people in the past, but he’s never just stopped talking to them because he was angry. That’s not really his style.

His throat feels like it’s closing up, the kind of thick that only comes when they’re watching really sad movies, or when that one commercial about the abused dogs comes on during late-night infomercial binges.

Fuck.

 _Fuck_ , he’s turning into a fucking idiot for some guy that cares about the game more than he cares about Segs.

He says that out loud to Jesse while he’s making dinner, and looks away so that guy can’t see his blush when he pokes his head out of the kitchen.

“Wait,” he says, clarifying. “Are you saying you care more about Skinner than about hockey? Because that’s. Fuck, man. Maybe you should tell him that, eh? That might make him see shit a little clearer, or whatever.”

Their doorbell rings. It saves Segs from a potentially feelings-filled conversation. The fact that it’s Dougie with his X-Box just makes it better.

“What, you don’t see enough of me on the road?” Segs asks, but he lets Dougie in, and of course Marchy’s right there behind him.

“Sustenance!” Marchy says, shoving a six-pack in his face. “It’s watered down American beer, but it’s still something, am I right?”

From the kitchen, Jesse calls out, “Fuck you, bro. No more Bud Light! We’re cultured in this house.”

“Like you even know what that means!” Marchy shouts back. 

They’re not, really, though; end up eating the paella right out of the bowl crowded around the TV. It’s a good night. Segs even wins the pool, so Jesse’s the one that has to get a new tattoo the next time they go.

He has a great Skype chat with his mom before bed, too, and falls asleep with a smile on his face.

In the morning, though, there’s still no text from Jeff. 

Fuck that guy.

 _fuck u_ , Segs texts before he can stop himself. 

Jeff doesn’t respond.

\--

Carolina’s coming to them, this time. 

Boston’s great in the springtime, crisp and pretty. Winter’s the best, obviously, because of hockey. Getting to play shinny on the pond behind his house was always great when he was a kid, but there’s something about Boston in the spring, something about the way that people actually smile when they talk to each other. It's definitely special.

Jesse’s taking classes at the Culinary Institute, or Cambridge School of Culinary Arts, or whatever the place right in Porter’s called, and it’s cool, gourmet food at their house is always fun, or at least it is until it’s heavy, cream-based cakes with ganaches that have more calories than Segs is even allowed to have in one day.

“I fucking hate you,” he says, while Jesse’s frosting another cake.

Jesse grins. “Fucking hate you too, brah. Hold that stand higher. I want the rosettes to be even.”

“Fuck you and your rosettes,” Segs volleys back, but he puts the height advantage to good use, and holds the cake stand straight so Jesse can kneel lower and pipe the ones on the bottom layer.

It’s for a birthday or a wedding or some shit. Some instructor in their course is having the culinary students do the food for one of her parties. Segs thinks it’s a stupid idea, but he’s helping out, because they’ve had three consecutive days off in a row, and he’s been a negligent doggy daddy and an even negligent-er roommate, and Jesse asked, so.

His phone buzzes, but it’s in the back pocket of his jeans, and Segs’ hands are full, so fuck it. He’s with his boy and his dog, and he’s busy.

Whatever.

It buzzes again, a call this time instead of just a text, and he says, “Yo. Can I take this? It’s probably my mom. She’s flying in, like. Sometime. Today or tomorrow, I don’t know.”

Jesse rolls his eyes. “She’s coming in tomorrow, man. I know, because I’m picking her up from the airport.”

“Fuck off. Where am I gonna be?”

There’s a monthly calendar taped up on the fridge with all of their schedule stuff, but it’s too far away for him to read.

“You got that thing,” Jesse mumbles under his breath. He’s not really listening. Segs’ phone buzzes one last time, the beep of a voicemail this time, so he stops worrying about it.

He doesn’t even think about it ‘til later. First they have to bring the cakes to the Institute, then it turns out that, of course, Jesse’s classmates know who he is, so they stop and snap some pictures, sign some shirts. It’s pretty cool. He has no idea how Jesse’s kept him a secret for so long.

“You ashamed of me?” he asks, but it’s mostly a joke. 

His phone rings again, and he tosses his keys over to Jesse so he can answer it this time.

“Hey Ma,” he says, but it’s Cass, instead, which is always nice.

They haven’t really had a chance to talk in a while. Segs has been focusing on his game. Hockey’s what’s important, anyway.

“I wanted to warn you ahead of time,” Cass says, but she says it, like, ominously, her voice dropping like maybe it’s some kind of secret. 

There’s always traffic at this intersection, so Segs reclines his seat back and gets comfortable. “What’s going on? You guys are still flying out tomorrow, right?” 

He’d checked his schedule while Jesse was setting up his cakes or whatever. Whatever injured hockey players do when they can’t skate or even exercise without falling over. He and Marchy have an appearance at a car dealership or something. It’s out in Needham.

Marchy’s better with directions and they’re taking his car, so Segs doesn’t even have to worry about the logistics.

“Sorry I can’t come get you,” he adds, feeling a little bad. Logan’s always a bitch to drive through, though, and it’s not like Jesse’s doing, like, anything with his time right now. “Marchy and me have this thing at a car dealership, you know.”

Cass just laughs at him, so he figures they’re all good. “It’s fine,” she says, “but hey listen, I ran into Ben Skinner and he mentioned that they were flying out for this game, too.”

Hold up. 

“Hold up,” Segs says, sitting up so fast that the seatbelt tries to choke him. “The Skinners’ are coming here?”

He can’t tell if his voice is squeaking or not, but Jesse’s trying to keep a straight face and straight up failing, so it obviously is. Fucking shit.

“I guess,” Cass says, and at least she sounds a little anxious about it, too. “Benny said something about, like. They’re not gonna get to see Jeff around his birthday, and twenty-one is a big year. I don’t know. You know them better than me. He said it was the only time everybody could take time off, though.”

Fucking shit. “Boston’s a big town,” he says. “Right? We won’t even see them.”

“Sure,” she tries, and next to him, Jesse’s having the worst time trying to keep his shit together.

If he crashes Segs’ car, there’s going to be hell to pay.

\--

Practice is good. Morning skate is fine. Segs and Marchy go for their car dealership appearance which is pretty great, considering they’ll probably get free rides out of the deal.

He spends the first half hour of naptime staring at his phone and the remaining hour and a half staring up at the ceiling.

Their place is big enough, but Mom and Candace and Cass wanted their own hotel room, so they’ll be meeting at the Garden after the game.

He’s not well-rested, but fuck it. He’s played on less sleep and more angst, alright? He’ll be fine. It’ll be fine. Whatever.

It’s just Carolina, for fuck’s sake. Who the fuck cares about Carolina? It’s not like they’re in contention for the Cup anyway, not with the way they’ve been playing lately.

Segs hasn’t watched the games, but he does have the ESPN app on his phone, and it’s not like he’s been specifically looking out for those scores, but sometimes they’re right there in front of his face. It’s not like he can stop his eyes from knowing how to read.

\--

Boston’s always bustling in the springtime, and the Garden is packed as usual. There’s something about leaving the player’s lot that always gets him going, though. You can’t always tell which games are going to sell out, but people want to see the B’s win, and Carolina is exactly the kind of bug they can squash comfortably.

Coach says the same kinds of stuff he always starts with in the room: “I believe in you as a team. Work on preventing turnovers, boys. We’ll win this one if we work hard and keep our heads out there. This is home ice. This is our turf. Don’t forget that they are guests in our house.”

He’s not looking right at Segs when he says it, but that’s what it feels like, even though when he sneaks a peak, no one else is really looking at him, either.

It’s just weird, because they’re probably broken up—shit, three months straight of radio silence means they’re _definitely_ broken up, and he doesn’t care, he doesn’t even care, except for the part where Jeff was one of his best friends for a long time. That’s a fucking hard thing to turn off.

“Let’s go,” Z says, and right, right. They have a game to win.

\--

They win. 

Of course they fucking win. It’s _Carolina_. Segs wasn’t worried at all.

“Segsy!” Thorty shouts. He’s got his shorts off and heading for the showers, but that doesn’t stop him from coming close and rubbing his dick awkwardly against Segs’ stuff.

“Fuck off,” Segs says, and Thorty uses that as an excuse to hug him, tight. Segs is a dude who routinely doesn’t mind being naked around other dudes’ junk, but it’s still the grossest thing he’s felt in a while.

“You coming out tonight?” Thorty asks. “You gotta, after a win. Them’s the rules, bro.”

He pretends to think about it, but ultimately, if his mom and his sisters are in town, that’s the option that wins out.

“Sorry, man. My family’s in town, and they’re way prettier to look at than you.”

\--

Jeff is pretty much the last person Segs is expecting at his house when he rolls in. Like, if someone had called him up and said, “Wayne Getzky’s going to be at your place. Make it look presentable and shit,” he’d have believed that more than this.

He’s just sitting on the couch in a Canes hoodie and dark sweats, and he’s finally fucking gotten his hair cut, so he looks less like an oil slick and more like a little kid.

“Uh,” Segs says, and Jesse makes a noise from the kitchen, like he’s laughing but really, really wants to hide it. “Hey, man.”

There’s about a minute of crazy silence, where Jeff is just looking at him, quiet and focused, and Segs isn’t the type of guy to get all introspective about people’s faces, but this is something else entirely. It feels like his guts are trying to turn themselves inside out. Which. Is gross.

“Hey,” Jeff says finally, like he’s just now remembering he has a voice. “We don’t fly out until the morning, and I had some time free, so I thought I’d.”

He stops and then, like, gestures around the room, like that even means anything. He thought he’d, what? Case the place? Figure out if he left anything behind the last time he was here? Be a giant dickhole?

Segs doesn’t say anything. Jeff is still staring, but shit, that guy can look all he likes. Segs isn’t budging a fucking inch.

“Are you just gonna stand there?” Jeff asks, and he’s cranky, too. Which is ridiculous. “Can we go to your room?”

He’s about thirty seconds from being thrown out, but Segs chokes a little bit on the words. He feels like a kid getting reprimanded by their parents, his stomach is so tight, but doesn’t even make sense. He didn’t do anything wrong. He’s not the one who stopped calling. Or texting. Or being a boyfriend.

“Fuck off,” he says, but he turns around and takes the stairs up to his room two by two. If Jeff wants to follow, whatever. That’s fine.

Jesse’s making some noise downstairs, but after Jeff follows he shouts up, “I’m done for the night, Segs. Marchy just texted. He wants to fail at beating me at darts again. So. That’s what I’m doing.”

He doesn’t ask Segs to come or invite Jeff either, just gets out of there lightning fast, slamming the front door as he goes.

Marshall makes a noise from his crate, but it’s late enough that he’ll just fall back asleep, anyway. It’s not time for his nighttime walk, anyway, and that wasn’t a, “Daddy I have to pee” noise either.

His room is kind of messy, but at least there’s a bed with real sheets on it now. So, that’s, like, a step in the right direction or whatever. He drops his gear bag by the foot of his bed and then starts doing his nightly routine.

Jeff just stands there in the doorway like an asshole, but considering his recent behavior, it’s not like it’s a stretch for him.

When it’s been, like, seven minutes without either of them saying anything, Segs nuts up and says, “Okay, whatever, Skinner. Fuck off. What are you even doing here?”

The TV’s still going downstairs. They always try to leave it on for the dog when they’re both going to be away from that area, and it’s not loud, but Segs can still sort of hear it. It’s the CW, because Marshall likes The Vampire Diaries best, and it calms Segs down a little, trying to place the storyline.

It’s an older one, from season two, maybe. Somebody’s arguing with Katherine about being a bamf. All the ballers have a hard life, apparently.

“Sorry,” Jeff mumbles, but he says it so quiet that Segs doesn’t even hear him the first time.

He blinks, and Jeff stares back at him when he says, “What?” He’s not even playing, though. “I just didn’t hear you,” he says, even though he kind of did. It wouldn’t hurt to hear Jeff say it again, though.

“Sorry,” he repeats, saying it a little louder this time. “I was just. I was really pissed at you guys, and pissed at you, and I.” 

Jeff’s blushing, which has always done really great things for his face. He just stops, right there in the middle of Segs’ bedroom, just stops, and closes his eyes, breathing deep. 

“I just didn’t text you back, and then kept not texting you back, because I knew I’d see you soon, and I’d want to win, and it’s hard to play against somebody and want them to lose, especially when they want to win so bad.”

“It’s not that hard,” Segs says, because it’s not. 

It’s looking like the Hawks and them have a pretty great chance to make it to the Cup finals, if everything goes the way it’s supposed to. Kaner’s his boy, but Segs still wants to see those guys go down in flames.

“Maybe not for you,” Jeff starts, and then stops himself. “I just wanted to say sorry for being a jackass.”

He could sit on it. Segs could make this a whole big deal. He wouldn’t be in the wrong, and fuck it, he was hurt, okay? He was fucking hurt, and it sucked, but. If the alternative is not having Jeff around at all, that would just suck even more.

So.

“Fuck off,” Segs says, and Jeff looks a little startled, which is good. It’s always good to keep people on their toes. “You get forgiven on one condition.”

The way Jeff starts to smile is probably one of the greatest things Segs has ever seen, but he doesn’t smile back. For once, this is serious. He says so, and Jeff nods back emphatically.

“Okay,” he says, voice a little scratchy. “What is it?”

Segs closes up the space between them, punching that guy hard in the arm. Hard enough to bruise probably, but it’s not like they don’t have enough of those already.

“You can’t pull this shit again,” he says, looking Jeff right in the eyes. “Even if we’re not, like, fucking any more or whatever, you can’t just. We’re friends first. We’re supposed to be friends first.”

Jeff nods like he gets it, like he’s serious about it, and like. It still hurts, alright? But it’s mostly okay. Or it will be.

He slugs Jeff in the arm again for good measure, though, because he deserves it.

“So,” Jeff says, a minute later, flicking his tongue out over his lips like the fucking tease he is. “No fucking? Are you, like. Are you seeing anyone right now?”

Segs shrugs, but it's not like he is. This season has been all about hockey.

"Maybe, maybe not," he says. "Depends on what you do next."

**Author's Note:**

> Titled by a lyric in an Avett Brothers song. Thanks, Avett Bros, for providing quality ambiance in my writing life!


End file.
